


Operation: Romance

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [27]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small cat lends himself to a large misunderstanding.  With roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Romance

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of silly, borderline-crack fic, designed to answer the question of just how Ted Quinlan would go about being romantic.  
> 

Operation: Romance

_Wednesday February 11, 1987 (T Minus 3 Days and Counting)_

Ted Quinlan was baffled and unhappy, an unusual state of affairs for him. But he was in an unusual situation. It was three days until that horrific avalanche of schmaltz and goo known as Valentine's Day, and for the first time in twenty years, he wasn't spending it alone. That was good, he supposed. He loved Murray, and he liked having someone to share things with, but he had no idea where he stood in regards to this particular thing. Birthdays were okay, and he'd gotten through Christmas all right. Even those little anniversaries that Murray liked to commemorate weren't a big deal. Those were personal, and they usually celebrated by doing whatever it was they did on the original date. Watching a movie, making love—things Ted understood and was good at.

But this one had him at a loss. He knew how men and women were supposed to celebrate. If he was with a girl, he'd buy her flowers and candy. Maybe jewelry. But for a man? He had no idea. His wife had never given him a gift and he was clueless as to what protocol dictated. Maybe when men were together, they ignored the whole thing. Maybe that was what Murray was planning to do. But if he wasn't, Quinlan didn't want to be left looking insensitive or uncaring.

He went to bed that night wondering if there was room in the house for a second cat.

_Thursday February 12, 1987 (T Minus 2 Days and Counting)_

Murray was busy soldering and trying not to burn himself, at least not any more than he had to, and as much as he enjoyed Quinlan's company, it was beginning to wear thin. The older man had been hanging around his office a lot the last couple of days, always seeming to be on the verge of saying something but never quite going through with it.

After he cleared his throat for the fifth time without speaking, Murray sighed and slipped his burned finger into his mouth.

"Lieutenant, I love you, but this has got to stop," he said, his words muffled by his injured hand.

"What's wrong?"

"You're making me nervous, hovering around like this. Is there something on your mind?"

"No, I just wanted to spend time with you. Is that a crime?"

"If it is, I bet you can beat the fine," Murray said, laughing at his own joke.

"Probably. But I'll leave you alone if you want."

"Just for an hour or so. Long enough for me to finish this circuit board, and then I'll fry that chicken for supper. Hey, there was something in the new _Reader's Digest_ I wanted you to see. It's on the arm of the sofa, I think."

"Yeah, okay. I can take a hint," Quinlan grumbled. But if that were actually true, it would solve both their problems. He would already know what to do for the fast approaching holiday, and Murray wouldn't have had to tell him flat out to go away.

He went to the living room and found that the magazine had fallen off the sofa, probably with a little help from Catloaf, who was even then batting at the pages. Quinlan picked up the kitten, tucking him absently under his arm, and retrieved the magazine. He sat down and started flipping through it, wondering if he could figure out what Murray had wanted him to see without having to ask. He found a page folded over and decided to start there. As he read, his eyes grew wider and his heart began to pound. Catloaf squirmed free and jumped to the floor unnoticed as Quinlan read on. When he'd finished the article, he went back and checked to see that the page had really been folded over, and then read it again. Then he laid the magazine on the footlocker, got up, put on his jacket, and told Murray he was going for a walk.

Suddenly he had a lot to think about.

_Friday February 13, 1987 (T Minus 1 Day and Counting)_

Quinlan washed the dishes after lunch and then told Murray, who was still soldering away on that same circuit board, that he had to go out. Murray said fine, have fun, and went on working. In ten minutes, he wouldn't even remember the exchange. Just as he hadn't noticed Ted's odd behavior last night or the strange looks he kept throwing Murray's way all morning. When he was this engrossed in a project, Murray noticed very little. Even Catloaf trotting in and placing a small snake on his foot got very little reaction. He just took the poor reptile and dropped it in the wastebasket to deal with later. He would forget it, of course, and it would be a nice surprise for Ted when he came in later to clean up.

Murray was on a deadline with this one and kept on the job all that day, eating a slice of pizza when Quinlan insisted and going to bed after midnight, and then only under duress. He collapsed on the pillows, dressed in his pajama pants and a t-shirt that Quinlan had left on the chair next to his pajamas, too tired to tell the difference. Short sleeves, no buttons, three sizes too big—none of that mattered to Murray. He pressed against Ted's back and fell asleep at once, making it impossible for the other man to even turn over.

Not that he had much reason to. There would be no loving, or even conversation, tonight. Instead, he thought about that article in the _Reader's Digest_ and wondered if he could have made a mistake. Murray certainly didn't act like he was expecting anything. Not like Christmas when he was snooping and hinting for weeks. Quinlan had had confidence in that surprise, which was even now sleeping curled on his hip. This was just weird. But still, the folded page, the determined look on Murray's face when he said he wanted him to read it—what else could he have meant?

It was a long time, before Quinlan slept.

_Saturday February 14, 1987 (V-Day)_

Murray woke to a purring Catloaf on his throat and a digital clock that said he'd overslept by about an hour. He pushed Catloaf off onto the pillow and rubbed his eyes, hearing without quite understanding the rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Ted. Ted was gone, so he must be in the kitchen. But it was Murray's turn to make breakfast. He put on his glasses and threw back the blankets, but before he could get up, Quinlan was there with a tray of pancakes and bacon. A single red rose in a bud vase decorated the tray and Murray gave him a puzzled look.

"What—you made me breakfast in bed? What is this, Ted?"

"It's Valentine's Day, of course. Anyway, you deserve a break."

"Is that why you let me sleep in? Did you turn off my alarm?"

"You don't need to get up at six on Saturday. You been working too hard, anyway. Here sit up." He set the tray down, fixed the blankets, and then moved it where Murray could reach.

"Are you going to eat with me?"

"Yeah, sure."

He went to get his plate and Murray shook his head in wonder. Who knew Ted was a sucker for Valentine's romance?

***

After breakfast, Murray insisted on working for a while and was surprised to find a Hallmark card on his keyboard. On the front was a basket of sleeping kittens, and inside a bit of sentiment that melted his heart even as it spiked his radar. Still, it was sweet, and nothing brightened his day like a Catbread reference from his partner in toast. He set it aside, meaning to say something later, and promptly forgot as he delved into his work.

He didn't think about anything else until Quinlan came to get him for lunch. That seemed odd, too, once he thought about it. It wasn't uncommon for Ted to bring him a sandwich or something, but he rarely ever dragged Murray out of his office and made him sit at the table. And this was an actual meal, too. Cold fried chicken, potato salad and green beans, all his favorites. Even if he had fried the chicken himself last night, that took nothing away from the effort. The table was set nicely, too, and he wondered again what was going on. But the biggest part of his mind was taken up with getting that last circuit to open and close properly. Something was causing a disconnect and he just couldn't figure out what.

He ate quickly, nodding in all the right places as Quinlan talked, but unable to remember later what was said. Nor did he notice the expression of confused disappointment on his lover's face when he left the table.

Murray worked through the afternoon, occasionally catching a glimpse of the card on his desk and thinking he needed to say something, and then getting sucked back into his work again. Quinlan wasn't hanging around like he had the last few days and Murray wondered if he'd hurt the lieutenant's feelings somehow. Well, he'd make it up later.

***

That evening, Murray finally got his circuits straightened out and put his work away. Now that that was off his mind, he recalled that it was still Valentine's Day and Ted had apparently been making an effort at romance. He wished he'd paid a little more attention, but he figured he could take the rest of the night off now and Ted would forgive him for anything he might have overlooked.

He had a gift for his lover in his desk, a small wrapped box, tied with a bow, and he slipped it into his pocket as he rose. He stretched his long body, cracking his spine most satisfactorily, and went looking for Ted. _The Magnificent Seven_ was on soon and he'd missed the eight o'clock testosterone fest the last few nights. Maybe that was what had Ted acting so strangely. Maybe he was feeling ignored. Murray laughed quietly at the idea, and at himself for thinking it, and stopped short when he reached the kitchen.

It was even worse than he'd feared, with steaks frying in butter and roses on the table, next to an elaborately wrapped package. Ted left the stove to greet him with a kiss, but couldn't help noticing the bewildered look on Murray's face.

"Something wrong?" he asked, ready to get defensive. Murray shrugged.

"I don't know, Lieutenant. I'm not sure what's going on. Have I been ignoring you, or do you—is there something you're feeling guilty about?"

"Guilty? Why would I feel guilty?"

"That's what I'm asking you. I mean, this is nice, really, but I've never seen you make such a big deal about any holiday, let alone one made up entirely by the greeting card industry."

Quinlan turned down the fire under the steaks and then just looked confused.

"But—the magazine…" he stammered. "The _Reader's Digest_. You said you wanted me to read the article…"

"What article? I—where is it?"

Thoroughly defensive now, Quinlan brought it from the living room and thrust it into Murray's hands, open to the page he'd marked.

"Oh. Oh, Ted, no," he said, suddenly laughing so hard he had to sit down. "I'm so sorry."

"What? Stop laughing, you fool."

Murray laid the magazine open on the table. On the right page, the one he'd folded down, was the beginning of an article entitled _Have a Very Happy Valentine's Day—Ten Tricks to Tantalize Your Mate_. On the left page was a recipe for lemon pie crumb cake, with a crumbly pie crust-like topping and meringue filling.

"This was what I wanted you to see. I—I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I was so busy that day—I was just trying to get you out of the way for a little while. I was hoping you'd decide you wanted me to bake the cake, and go to the store for me. We don't have most of this stuff here."

"The cake?" he repeated, feeling vaguely stunned. "I made you breakfast in bed and bought you flowers, and you wanted me to pick up meringue fixings?"

"I'm afraid so," Murray said and broke down again.

"Shut up," Quinlan muttered, returning to the stove. "Just shut up."

While his back was turned, Murray tossed the magazine into the other room and slipped the package from his pocket, laying it beside Ted's plate as a peace offering. He had his laughter under control by the time the other man brought the food to the table. It was out of character for Ted to care about dates like this, but he obviously cared a lot about Murray if he'd go to this much trouble, and Murray could almost taste his humiliation.

"You're awfully good to me," he said quietly. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, well, you don't deserve it."

"I know. It was cruel to laugh, and I'm sorry. Mostly I'm sorry that I wasn't paying attention to anything around here the last couple of days."

"You were busy. Anyway, it doesn't matter and I don't want to talk about it."

Murray nodded and ate his steak. It was perfect, of course, and he felt even worse.

"Let me do the dishes," he said when Quinlan started to rise. "Here, open your present. Can I open mine?"

"You don't deserve it," he said again, and Murray nodded.

"I know. But you love me anyway, right?"

"I guess so," Quinlan said grudgingly. But in his heart, he was just glad they hadn't gotten to the part with the rose petals on the bed. Of course, tomorrow he was going to have to find a way to unload a box of flower parts without getting caught. He unwrapped the small box and instantly regretted his bad mood and unforgiving words. "Murray, you shouldn't have."

"You don't like it?" he asked, his turn to be nervous. He was sure it was the watch Ted had pointed out in the jeweler's window that day last month. He'd gone back the next day to get it before they changed the display and confused him, and it was too late to return it now. It was already engraved.

"No, I—it's great. It's just what I wanted." He started to put it on and Murray told him to turn it over first. On the back, it was engraved very like their rings, _Q/B 1987_, but with one small difference. "What's the eight for?"

"It's not an eight. It's the mathematical symbol for infinity. Like—forever."

"Oh. Jeez, kid…"

"Okay, it's my turn," Murray said, trying to break the mood and wipe that odd look from his face. He opened his own package and found a heavy gold bracelet, which he had pointed out that same day in the jeweler's window. Ted had gone back, too.

"I couldn't help noticing, you know, in all those old pictures you have. You always used to wear stuff like that and it—it looks good on you."

"I have good bones," Murray said distantly, slipping it on. Growing up in the sixties and seventies, he had worn a lot of jewelry. After he got rich, the quality went up significantly, but when he lost his money in the stock market, he sold most of it. The rest had gone over the last few years to help keep the agency afloat, although Nick and Cody didn't know that.

"You like it?" Quinlan asked hesitantly. He felt like he'd put himself out there enough for one day, but he still had to ask. He had to know if he'd finally done something right.

"Of course I do. I—I love it. I love _you_." He got up and reached for his lover's hand, the gold shining brightly on his wrist. "Let's leave the dishes for now, okay? I have something else for you."

They ended up catching the last half of _The Magnificent Seven_ in bed, and Quinlan slept that night knowing that, despite a few hitches, the mission had been a success.


End file.
